


watch the stars glitter in the nightfall

by mania_sama



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - War, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Metaphors, Military, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Open to Interpretation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Sad, Similes, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Stars, Suicide, Symbolism, This is very very sad, Trauma, War, World War II, i mean each line is sadness one after the other, i really like war aus so have this, its a one-shot because the second chapter explains plot elements and stuff; not actual writing, no beta we die like the sbi family, there are a lot of deep meanings in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mania_sama/pseuds/mania_sama
Summary: The blue and gold stars that hung from Phil's window counted down the days until Sapnap came home.—•—•—-LOWERCASE INTENDED FOR TITLE-—•—•—Posted to Wattpad as well.—•—•—If any of the MCYTs say they are uncomfortable with being in this fanfiction, I will take it down without question.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo, GeorgeNotFound & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. watch the stars glitter in the nightfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually my second time uploading this fanfic lol. I had to take it down for various reasons, but it hadn't been doing great on Archive or Wattpad anyway, so I didn't worry too much about it.

The air was stale and unmoving, the scent of bread long snuffed out. Words were abandoned to hang out and dry, yet it seemed to get more damp as the Grandfather clock spoke the time in a monotone voice, just as it always did except for when he expressed the hour. That was when it would change. But, the hour did not strike, and neither did the emotions that threatened to spring forward like a rattlesnake. They were left to be deciphered in the eyes of the scared, the saved, and the sacrifice.

He had known what was going to happen when his friend showed up at his doorstep. It was on the way to South Carolina, afterall. A slight detour would not be an issue in his case. Yet, those intruding thoughts had been pushed to the back of his mind. There was no reason to think so negatively about something that had a low possibility of being true, and he could instead spend the day with his friends if they so wished to. It was a delusion he created to slam the door on his gut feeling, forcing positive energy on top of the unyielding reality.

All of it seemed surreal after Dream opened the door. George stepped in behind him, ready to greet their friend as they’d do so often. The ambience had never changed so suddenly in his life. Not when he found out his sister got sick, and not when he saw the first dots of the chicken pocks on his arms. Perhaps it was because when those things happened, he was younger, and incapable of reading the feelings of others. Ever since Dream had first met Sapnap, the boy had worn his heart on his sleeve. That was why he and George were able to so easily identify the regret sprawled in messy handwriting across the face he wore.

The regal military emblem still batted its wings behind his eyelids, no matter how many nights he slept after the talons tore his life apart. The envelope had been originally closed with a red seal, and the question occasionally crossed his mind if it was to symbolize the crimson blood soldiers no longer circulated. It made him fidget for days on end to think of how he tore into that letter, somehow managing to keep his terrifying thoughts away until he read the words for himself. Even then, it was hard to believe the loopy letters curling around his internal endeavors. If he didn’t understand it, then it couldn’t be true, could it? That’s what he tried to convince himself, anyway. The sorrowful looks from Dream’s friends told him otherwise.

He almost wanted to pass out. Maybe then if he woke up, he would find out it was all a nightmare, and he’d be able to hang out with his friends like he thought he would that day. However, far-fetched dreams like that didn’t make it back to the boy. Harsh truths hurt more than pitiful lies, it seemed. He wanted to burn the paper in the fire that made his food, but he couldn’t bear to do that. Horrific images marched like a death parade in his brain, the drums echoing a message that told him to grab onto what he might lose.

He broke the stalemate, and climbed over the trenches that divided Sapnap from Dream and George. The wooden floor squeaked and bent underfoot as he brought his oldest friend into a tight hug, his open eyes that lost the ability to blink staring at the doorway that put them in this mess in the first place. It was easier to blame it on that than the entirety of the military. His mind became blank, static churning in and out of his ears, unable to pick up any noise even if the loudest siren were to go off next to him. Dream nearly felt bad for not crying, but something in him wanted to save that for when Sapnap wasn’t there. He wouldn’t want his friend to take the blame for something he never intended to become.

Dream hadn’t even realized that George left when he came back to deliver a piece of bread. It was rolled just as the British boy intended. He placed the piece into Sapnap’s hand, not bothering to say anything. His eyes, though, could pierce through the thickest metal in the world. Based on the appearance, the bread was still hot. The way Sapnap tossed it from one hand to another was a dead giveaway as well. Dream dared to smile, difficult as it may be. The paper he held crinkled impossibly more in his fist.

Sapnap’s similar grin slowly turned back to what it was when he arrived, signaling that it was time to wrap up their meeting. “I’m not allowed to stay here for too long; I was only told a few minutes to say my goodbyes.” He rubbed the back of his neck, briefly breaking eye contact. Dream found himself missing what was right in front of him.

There were many phrases that danced in his head, but none of them felt right. Sapnap couldn’t guarantee that he’d live, so there was no point in saying _‘Stay alive.’_ _‘Stay safe’_ was not correct either- he was literally drafted into a world-wide war. There is no such thing as ‘safe’ where he was going. Everything just seemed wrong, and it frustrated Dream to no end because he didn’t want Sapnap to leave without him saying anything at all. Right when he needed them most, his words failed him.

“Write to us when you can, soldier boy.” George miraculously saved the day. Apparently his brain was working, unlike Dream’s. The Brit hesitantly hugged Sapnap, as if he were afraid to be burned if he were to touch him. Dream could hardly blame him; everything was going too quickly, and he was scared of even the movement of a mouse.

“We’ll miss you.” With his hands balled up in his back pockets, he stepped to the side as Sapnap made his way out the doorway. “We’ll send you things if we can manage.” The sad smiles that swept all of their lips were not ones to fancy. Uncertainty lied ahead of the car that took Sapnap away from his best friends, but his vision of the endless unfathomable darkness was blocked by the door clicking shut on its own. It might’ve been all of three seconds after the events took place that Dream felt tears dampen his cheeks and chin.

George and Dream shared a similar fate, but neither said anything. Nothing needed to be said, because the storm that flooded his house took up all the noise required for proper words.

—•—•—

Splinters poked through his long-sleeve shirt as he leaned against his porch railway and stared at the house next to his. He wasn’t really looking at that point, more off in his own world. His world did have that house, though, considering it was at the forefront of his mind. He wondered how it could not be, because all of everything that was going on was always in his thoughts. When he woke up, he thought about the sounds of exploding bombs. When he ate breakfast, he thought about the rations the soldiers and civilians alike shared. When he looked out his window, he thought about the sky that was littered with warplanes at wherever the hell Sapnap was stationed. His house was just like the war, in his opinion.

At the front windows of his neighbor’s- Phil’s- house, there was a banner that hung woefully inside. It didn’t sway with the wind, and didn’t ever move from it’s spot. It was woven with a thick red ring around the edge, and white covered the rest. In the middle of the flag was a single blue star. Dream didn’t know what that family was really like outside of what they showed the public, but if inside their home was anything like his mind, then it was just another warzone he kept himself preoccupied with.

Dream didn’t personally have any banners in his house, and neither did George. They felt like they deserved to have one, but the technicalities didn’t allow it. Dream sighed, wondering what it would be like if he started to smoke. He’d never tried before, as it didn’t really interest him much. But, with the sudden changes lately, he wouldn’t necessarily be against it if it meant he were to be distracted from his shadows.

The problem lied with George. George hated smokers and smoking in general, and said that the smell makes him want to pull out his eyeballs, for whatever that’s supposed to mean. Dream didn’t want to upset George, and he certainly didn’t want to lose him as a friend. George was one of the only things he had left. Letting go of him right then was what he least wanted to do. _No smoking,_ he thought conclusively.

Speak of the devil and he comes. The wooden steps moaned as George walked up the steps to where Dream was standing. They greeted each other, but made no effort to move indoors. It was a rather pretty day out, ironically contrasting everything that Dream had been feeling recently. George’s hand flicked out, an unopened envelope nearly shoved into his friend’s face. “Sapnap finally wrote to us.”

The words were foreign to Dream, as if he wasn’t allowed to hear them in the first place. He blinked blankly, trying to comprehend what was spoken. George didn’t waver, falter, or stutter, neither in speech nor in stature. Everything about his friend assured Dream that this wasn’t some sick joke, and that it was really happening. He felt as though a sheet of ice had just melted from his vision, and once again he could see properly. He focused his eyes on the off-white envelope, no fancy red military seal keeping it together.

With a heavy hand, he grabbed for it, not sure if it was right but did it anyway. “Soldier boy really managed it, huh?” He strangled his words out, his throat all clogged up from emotions he couldn’t decipher. A service flag flapped in his mind’s eye, the star in the middle remaining the dark blue color it was before. Somewhere along the way, he must’ve convinced himself it turned gold.

His dirty fingernails picked at the flap that kept the letter tucked inside. It was interesting how letters work; you slather your saliva all over it and suddenly you need to use force to open it back up. Occasionally, you’ll cut your tongue on the edges of the envelope when you’re trying to seal it shut, and you’ll get blood all over it. Dream hoped that’s what the red was from.

_Dear Friends,_

_Our last talk was too damn short, and this paper space is, too. I hardly have any room to say what I really want, but whatever. I’ll make do because I know that’s what you all would prefer. I might as well come out and say what I feel, which is that I miss you guys a ton. I can’t say it’s lonely out in the battlefront, but I sure do feel alone without you lot shouting by my side. I try not to think about death too often, because if I do I’ll drive myself insane. You know how it is, and I’d rather not have you deal with an insane, war-stricken friend for when I come home. Personally, I don’t want to become that either. I’m running out of space (curse my handwriting and pen), so I’ll write what I can in the next letter. I have no intention of dying just yet. I’ll see you soon._

_-Sapnap_

—•—•—

Dream rolled over onto his stomach, his back facing the moon. Shards of grass pricked his skin, making him feel slightly uncomfortable. It was alright though, because he wasn’t alone. George was here with him, his arms crossed behind his head, laying flat on the ground. His eyes watched the stars glitter and shine, but Dream felt as though he’d already seen enough stars in his lifetime.

“He put up another blue star, you know.” He said it just above a whisper, more to himself than anything. He was taking a run when he passed by Phil Watson’s house just as always, except there had been something different. A new flag, beside the first one, dangled just as depressed as the other one. He had stopped in his tracks, unsure of what to do, and not knowing whether he’d be able to move again. The red, white, and blue was mocking him at this point, calling out his deepest and darkest fears from its place in the windowsill. He didn’t want to look at it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it, either. It was a horrendous cycle, with blurred pictures of people he once knew raising guns over barbed fences. A gunshot brought him back to reality, and he went home, depleted of the energy he started off with.

George shifted his torso, most likely feeling the same prodding Dream was. “Which one is left?” Mr. Watson had three sons, no daughters, and not a wife to speak of.

“Tommy.”

“How old is he now?” Wind gusted over Dream’s backyard, uncaring of the conversation it was trying to carry in the wind. He wondered if that same wind would be able to take their words to Sapnap, if he wasn’t already buried under a gold star.

If Dream remembered correctly, Tommy was still sixteen. Dream voiced as such. Tommy was way under the age of registration, yet something told him that being drafted was still a possibility. He looked older than he was, so chances are that he registered himself illegally for the draft, because that just seemed like the very thing Tommy would do. The kid did what he wanted, and when he was told he couldn’t, it gave him the incentive to try and do it even more. Besides, Sapnap was also underaged for legal registration, and he was carted off to his death. Who was to say the same couldn’t happen to someone even younger?

They must’ve thought alike, because neither of them spoke for a while after. It was an upsetting thought process, but one that would’ve happened sooner or later. The world would not stop for them, so it was up to Dream and George to keep running alongside it. On the thought of the draft, it made him think about himself, as well as George. A rather scary idea continuously passed by in his brain as the days went on, seeming to get worse and worse when the war continued to wreak havoc. “Do you think we’ll be drafted?” He could almost see it then; George handing him a letter with a royal British stamp on the edge of the paper, calling him away for duty in his homeland. It was different for the two of them. They were actually of the legal age.

“I can’t be drafted.” The image dissipated into dust, leaving behind the shadows of the tears he shed. It hit the grass under him. “I can’t go back to England, not now. I’m taking sanctuary in America, so they can’t reach me as a British citizen until the war is over.” His hands waved a little beside him. “It’s hard to explain, and I don’t really get it all myself, but trust me, I’m not going anywhere. The chances of you being drafted are low as well. I don’t believe they can take many more people from this area.” Water continued to fall, but no hands wiped them away.

“Let me rephrase that question: Do you think we’ll die because of this war?” That was a much broader statement. There are many different ways to die, and war can be the cause of multiple without one ever becoming a soldier. It was terrifying and sickening to keep in his head all the time, which is why he figured he’d express himself now before he returned back to his personal hell. Dream hated to take down George with him, but at that point, he assumed his friend couldn’t have gone this long without thinking about it as well.

An owl hooted somewhere in the treetops, just beyond where Dream could never reach. He envied the birds that could live up there, free of the limits that bind humans to the ground. “I don’t have an answer.” That was okay. Dream didn’t have an answer, either.

—•—•—

The envelope that sat at the table could almost be considered abandoned, but at the same time that was impossible since it was the elephant in the room. “The letters are getting harder and harder to read.” There had only been a few sent, but it'd already been two years since Sapnap rode off to war, and the memories became more painful. Dream knew that their friend had been alive at the time of writing, but whether or not he was when they read it was a different story.

“It’s been hard since the first one.” George’s eyes were fixated on the floor, shoulders slumped to show how he felt. Dream was the same, but he’d like to say he was getting better. Events and news were easier to handle than they were before. He thought it was some sort of initial shock that kept him from moving on for so long. It didn’t make it any less hurtful to imagine his friend, but it did make the thoughts come to him less often. It was almost scary; he didn’t want to lose the memories of his oldest friend, yet he didn’t know what else he could do to prevent himself from falling into depression.

The times that he felt his progress of mental health was failing was when he read letters, or even saw envelopes. It was almost as if he would start shrinking, and fall back into a mindset of pure torture. Crimson pictures upon bloodied hands would shake his core, his eyes would fill up with tears that would never come to fall, and faraway shots would echo in his eardrums. In those cases, he was worse than before, because everything came at one hundred and ten percent.

Dream uncrossed his arms and stopped leaning against the countertops. “Sitting around isn’t going to help anyone. Let’s go on a walk before we crack open the emotional box.” George slowly got up from his seat, swiping his hands across his pants of any dust that fell onto him. They walked out of the doorway that was haunted by past shadows, its wails a silent plea as the door was closed behind Dream. The sun shining above was much brighter than what he left behind.

He stuffed his hands in his back pockets as he walked alongside his friend down the street. The grass was greener than it ever was before, and the sky was a pale blue with puffs of white dotted across like a painting. It made his eyes hurt for a moment, the beauty of it all. It was a wonder how the weather was able to move so much faster than the people trapped on the ground. The road, however, could not be said with the same confidence. It was old and in desperate need of replacing. Yet, this road had been the very same one that carried the people Dream knew across to forts in Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and more from his homeland in Florida. He wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about it.

His head turned to look to the side, as it always does, at the house that dawned three banners, one star placed in the middle of each of them. He wondered why Phil didn’t get just one flag to hold all three. He paused when he noticed that a new development had been made to the mural of the sons at war. The middle flag had changed; a gold star took the place of the original blue. Dream choked, his saliva piling up where it definitely should not be. For a moment, all he could see was a field of golden stars glittering with life, while the sky was devoid of any stars at all.

He hated it. He knew what it meant, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the message. It was like a scythe was held above his head, and if he tried to move, the blade would come crashing down. It scared him, made him want to flee even more, yet the gold was keeping him pinned. George put his hands on Dream’s shoulders, not shaking him but instead keeping him steady. Possibly it was for the both of them. “What happened?”

Dream shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily. “Technoblade. His star isn’t blue anymore.” As if in a last-ditch effort to be stubborn, George didn’t look for himself. He remained trained on his friend, and the question passed on between them nonverbally. “It isn’t silver, either.” In the field of stars he saw, he knew the second son of the Watson family was lying among them.

They didn’t say anything for a few moments, gathering themselves together to continue walking. “Did you know him well?” George eventually inquired, his hands now draped by his own sides, swinging slightly. “Technoblade, I mean.”

Dream shrugged, his own hands once again resting in back pockets, just how he liked it. “Not too well, but just close enough to be considered friends.” Despite how often they hung out around each other, George didn’t actually live with Dream or even in his neighborhood. He just so happened to be with his friend a lot during that time, all things considered. It was also better for them; it made dealing with the world a whole lot easier when there was another person to hold onto. Dream had wondered from time to time how differently things would’ve turned out if George hadn’t been with him for the duration of Sapnap’s service. It wouldn’t have been pretty, that’s for sure.

It’s possible that another star would’ve been added to the ever-growing field. Whether that be from jumping after his friend or ending his pain, he wasn’t sure. That wasn’t something he needed to be thinking about, though, so he cut off his thoughts before they could expand. “Is there going to be a funeral?” George grounded him once again.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I would be invited.” He scoffed softly, feigning hurt over the wrong affair. It was easier than admitting to the actual problem. “You think they shaved off his pink hair?” It was one of Technoblade’s most prized possessions- it hurt to think that it would all have been chopped off just for the purpose of fighting other people. It was actually a nice shade of pink, though unfortunately not everyone appreciated the eccentric color.

“I like to think they didn’t.” George managed a smile, of all things. “Imagine that,” he used his hands to express his words even more, just as he always did. Some habits never die no matter the circumstances. “Being the best soldier in the military but at the same time have been called feminine and homosexual in his hometown just for his long, pink hair. It was better kept than ours, that’s for sure.” Insulting words were said both in private and in front of the man himself, but Technoblade was never fazed. Well, maybe they did do damage, but he never showed it in public. He simply continued to re-dye his hair with each passing month, ignoring others. Dream admired that about Technoblade; he had thicker skin than anyone he’d ever known.

They shared a quiet laugh, one that did no good to cover up the undertone of sadness that followed them around in the stiff and still air. They spoke small talk, all in a rather successful attempt to get their mind off of the events that had taken place. The birds they had seen became a topic they kept coming back to, no matter what they had been talking about previously. They discussed how crows kept appearing, ever since _that_ day. It was rather strange, but made do for their walk.

When they circled their way back around to the place they started, Dream found himself wishing they had taken a longer route. For sitting on his porch steps with his head in between his knees, was a boy he knew from his neighborhood, and a letter hung from his hands. Dream didn’t stop walking, but he felt that a bit of himself was left behind on the road, waiting to be run over.

Unlike with Sapnap, he didn’t push away his thoughts regarding the truth. He’d seen and recognized that letter- that _eagle_ one too many times for him to be ignorant of what was right in front of him. He knew George was on the same track; his jaw was set forward and his brown eyes were already guarded with walls as tough as steel. Dream pondered if that was what he looked like as well.

They didn’t go inside. Dream wanted whatever happened in the next few minutes to stay outside, where they couldn’t reach the interior of his house and seep under his sheets to hover over him at night. They also didn’t read the letter. The contents were already established and ingrained into the brains of them all. The boy- Tubbo- was Sapnap’s age when the man was called away for duty. Dream cringed to think of it.

“I- I registered because Tommy did.” Tubbo wasn’t crying, but instead seemed to be holding them back for whatever reason he chose. “I decided that if Tommy was drafted, I would be, too. I would follow after him, to the ends of the Earth if that was what it took.” He lifted his head, meeting the eyes of his adults. “He never… he didn’t tell me he was drafted. He just stopped showing up one day, and Phil wouldn’t open his door so I…”

Tubbo’s hand was covering his mouth, rubbing it despite there being no facial hair for him to scratch. “He didn’t want you to join.” Dream’s mouth was curled downwards as he let George voice their thoughts. “He didn’t want you to be sent to war like a lamb to the slaughter.” Well, it could’ve been said lighter than that. He understood what George was saying, but Tubbo deserved to be shown a bit of empathy. By God, it would’ve hurt worse if Sapnap had left without a warning, not even a letter to declare his ultimate goodbye.

“But why? Why would he have asked me to register with him if he was going to turn around and do that?” Tubbo finally let a tear go down his cheek, which was followed by another. They stained the all-but-forgotten letter. It was a scene unlike any other; a child that came to seek out his adult friends because his parents were unforgiving in their punishments. Tubbo wasn’t technically a child anymore, being at the age of nineteen, but there was something he still had that Dream and George had lost a long time ago. They couldn’t exactly place their finger on it.

George averted his eyes for the first time, unsure of what to say. Dream figured that it was his turn to step in, since he’d been given more than enough time to prepare. “People can change very quickly, Tubbo. He watched his only siblings be drafted, and witnessed his father withdraw. Maybe he realized war wasn’t all he thought it was.” He did his best, hoping it was satisfactory for all the ears listening. There truly wasn’t a right or wrong answer to Tubbo’s question, and anything done in response would make life worse. Even not responding was a bad idea, so Dream swung the double-edged sword he was given, trying not to stab anyone in the process.

Tubbo wiped away his tears with a free hand. “His efforts were for nothing.” At least it wasn’t an angry response like Dream had expected, but it wasn’t happy-go-lucky like the boy once was. “Perhaps I wouldn’t have minded being a lamb. At least then I would’ve lived without knowing of the slaughter.” Neither of them could respond to that, because there was a meaning of loss that Dream and George would never be able to experience. Not with the friendship they still had with each other. “I guess I’ve jumped after him, even if I was pushed. I’ll find him, and let the war take the wheel afterwards.” It wasn’t a direct goodbye, but it got what needed to be said across. Tubbo disappeared from Dream’s line of sight, the letter long crumbled up in his hands, too soggy to have any use anymore. Dream really despised letters.

Dream made his way up the steps, his hand hesitantly reaching for the door handle. “Is he going to make it?” George asked the question, but the answer was already obvious.

“A man who enters thinking he’s going to lose will always receive that fate.” Crows shouted nearby, forever reverberating in the skulls of their victims.

—•—•—

_Dear Dream and George,_

_You might notice the difference in handwriting in this letter. That’s because I’m not really writing it. A really pretty nurse is writing it for me. I can’t write personally because my arm was amputated. Don’t freak out because it’s not that big of a deal, and besides, this means I get to come back to America! I’m not able to fight anymore, so they said to me, “Go home.” I’ve even been considering a prosthetic if George will use his rich person money to get me one once this war is over. They are saying it might end soon, even, so that’s really good! I’ll save my words for when I see you guys again. It’s better when it’s in-person._

_-Sapnap_

The signature at the bottom of the letter was different from the rest of it. It was sloppy and horrendous, and the name could barely even be read.

—•—•—

Four banners, two on each window guarding the front door, were displayed, almost as if for show-and-tell. He supposed that was the purpose it was there for now; he wasn’t sure how much Phil cared to have them up anymore. He hadn’t taken them down yet, at least. Dream knocked, trying to block out the four golden stars glittering just a bit more than the rest in the field. No one came to the door, so he knocked again, this time chewing on his lip. There was no answer.

He tried the doorbell, despite knowing it broke a long time ago. He didn’t hear a chime in the house, and he certainly didn’t hear someone inside. “Phil?” He called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. He yelled again, and then once more. There were no replies, nothing to show that there was life inside of the house. Dream considered turning back and forgetting about what he set out to do since Phil clearly didn’t want to interact, but the pit in his belly kept him from stepping backwards.

Dream made his way around to the side of the house, trying to peer in a window to see if the man was sitting in a viewable chair, or standing in his kitchen, trying to ignore his very insistent neighbor. Dream didn’t see any of that, though, and instead saw collecting dust that looked like it hadn’t been wiped down for months, or even a year. It was upsetting to see, and made his heart pound with the most emotion he’d felt since the day Sapnap left, discounting his mornings when he woke up with sweat dripping down his back. Those would continue on for a while, so it’d be useless to say that they could be counted in as emotions.

He ended up walking around the whole house, his pace picking up as dread settled its way into his stomach like a snake ready to lay eggs of chaos. He wound his way back up to the front of the house, using one of the only useful bits of knowledge he gained from being friends with Technoblade: There was a key hidden inside the welcome doormat. He knew he wouldn’t be able to force that door open himself, and breaking windows was simply unethical, so he was glad his memory came through for him when he needed it most.

Unlocking the front door, he stepped into Phil’s house, taking care to step across a shattered vase. The lights were off and a pin drop could be heard within the deafening silence. It felt like he was exploring a haunted house that had been abandoned for ages, one that had rumors circulating throughout the town. Except, someone did live here, and Dream intended on finding him. He swallowed, calling out again for his neighbor. Only his own voice echoed back to him.

There were dishes strewn throughout the kitchen. It seemed like it had been accumulated over a few weeks, which was a rather sad sight to see. Dream couldn’t say he was necessarily surprised; Phil hadn’t really been in the best state of mind, despite Dream’s best efforts to talk to him and make him food with the rations that were supplied. He didn’t bother to check the cupboards, but he figured there was perishable food that had long gone stale. His gut churned just a little more, making his way up the stairs, preparing himself to see any stiff bodies.

The first bedroom he happened upon was the worst, because after that room, he left the house entirely. Sitting upon a neatly-made bed was a letter. The horrifying sounds of his nightmares returned to him, and he placed his hand on his forehead in an attempt to steady himself. No matter where he went, letters and envelopes alike always brought him terrible news. He didn’t want to read it. His body was screaming and begging for him to run home and never look back.

He read the words on the paper, not quite comprehending it the first time, nor the second. It was like it was purposely trying to escape him, forcing him to not understand what was going on. Perhaps it was to lessen the pain, because how could Phil have predicted Dream’s arrival? It didn’t make sense, but he guessed it didn’t really have to. What was done was done, and it was up to him to move on.

Dream slipped the key back into the doormat, locking the door before he did so. He knew he was slumped over while he walked, the weight of the nightmares he held in his hand dragging him down. He asked for his friends not to come with him, and he was glad he did. This was something he wanted to experience alone. If he was to come across a lifeless corpse, then he didn’t want others to be with him. Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but the evidence of one out there was written on paper.

Dream entered his own house, the smell of freshly baked bread reaching his nose. He followed the scent trail to his own kitchen, in which Sapnap was staring at his bread with a frown. He slowly set down the letter, hoping it would go unnoticed. Of course, it wasn’t. George had always made sure to watch what Dream was doing carefully, so it didn’t make it past him. He didn’t question it, much to Dream’s relief. George gave him the look of, _We’ll talk about this later._ Dream was used to that look by then.

“What’s wrong?” Dream asked, taking his seat at the table. Sapnap glanced from his friend to food to his friend again. His eyebrows furrowed impossibly more before he moved the plate with his left hand, sliding it over to the other man at the table. His right sleeve dangled uselessly at his side. Dream gazed at the piece of bread, unsure of what to make of it. Nothing appeared to be wrong with it. In all honesty, he was sort of excited to eat fresh bread. The rationing had made it difficult to cook, so most of the bread he had eaten during the war was stale and cold. This, however, was warm and out of the oven.

Sapnap’s palm was face down as he made an up and downward motion with his hand. “Touch it. It looks warm, right?” Dream could agree with that. He didn’t really understand why this was something he was being asked to do, but he went through with it anyway. George seemed bothered, too, now that he paid attention to it. When he walked in, the man had a similar expression that their soldier friend held.

Dream poked at the soft bread, expecting the exact opposite of what he received. Instead of feeling any kind of temperature, he felt nothing. There wasn’t any warmth to the bread at all, no matter what it looked and smelt like. It was an enigma he couldn’t possibly begin to break down. “Why isn’t it hot?” He asked, the question directed at the Brit.

George shrugged, his nose scrunched up in thought. “Sapnap and I can’t feel it, either.” He took his seat at the table. All three seats were taken up, just as they were meant to by their group. Something wasn’t right, though. Something wasn’t there that was before the United States went to war and dragged Sapnap along for the torture. Dream wondered if it had something to do with the bread.

—•—•—

_I’ve gone to a cliff. I won’t be there no matter how long you search, Dream._

_-Phil_

Dream locked the Watson house for the last time in his life, feeling like he was aged seventy instead of twenty-five. The key went back into its rightful place, and he stood back up to see what he’d done. Three flags on one side, two on the other. Tommy and Tubbo were together on a window, while Phil, Technoblade, and Wilbur- the oldest of the sons- took their own. Five golden stars representing five lives wrongfully taken in action. Phil had never been part of the military, but he was still a soldier who lost his life to World War II. He long earned his spot amongst the other glittering gold stars on a field below a colorless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading my fanfic. If you saw any mistakes, please let me know! I hope you have a wonderful day and/or night.


	2. Plot Elements in "watch the stars glitter in the nightfall"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically explaining the symbolism, parallelism, and other things that I put into this fanfic that you might have missed while reading. This is in no way required to be read, but it is available if you are curious.

**Explaining a Few Things**

I want to address a few things; first of all, I am aware that three out of four of the members of Sleepy Bois Inc. are British, but for the sake of the story and myself, the only British person is George. Second of all, Dream wasn’t hearing voices or seeing things that weren’t real, I just happened to change up my writing to a more poetic style, which I go more into detail later on. Also, if you are still confused about the banner and stars, I do explain that as well in this chapter.

* * *

**Change of Writing Style**

In my writing, I usually don’t use as many personification, similes, metaphors, etc. elements as I did in this one. This was done to better represent the time in which I was writing, which was the early to middle 1940s. You can see in historical letters from soldiers writing back to their families on the war, and their writing is much more flavorful than today’s.

* * *

**Bread**

At the beginning of this fanfiction, a piece of bread is introduced to the story. I left it open to interpretation what Sapnap did with the bread, but that wasn’t what was really important. I specified that the bread was hot, and that Sapnap was tossing it from hand to hand because of that heat. At the end of the story, the bread isn’t warm, despite it having been just taken out of the oven. There are multiple ways to interpret what that meant, but this is the way I see it: The bread represents what they no longer had now that the war was over, which is innocence. They began to truly fear for their lives on the day to day, and had waking nightmares.

* * *

**Tears**

Around the middle of the story when I introduced Tubbo, Dream’s internal monologues stated that Tubbo had something Dream and George didn’t, and that was what separated them from child and adult mental maturity. In that scene, George had hardened his eyes, so to speak, to guard himself from the emotions he was about to see. Dream had a similar expression as well. This prevented them from being able to cry, unlike Tubbo, who had no such experience as they did at emotions. Tubbo was able to cry freely, while Dream and George had seemingly lost the ability to do so.

* * *

**Tubbo and Tommy**

Tubbo and Tommy’s relationship was to show the reader an outside point of view of how quickly people can change. The reader gets a slow one with how Dream and George develop, but it wasn’t represented until Tubbo’s scene how a fast change can happen. What Dream said to Tubbo was true; at the beginning, war didn’t seem like much of a big deal to Tommy, but as time went on, he realized he was wrong. Tubbo had known since the beginning that war wasn’t good, but he was so willing to devote himself to his best friend that he put aside his personal feelings to protect Tommy. So when Tommy left, Tubbo was left with nothing but himself. He already knew what answer he believed in when he asked Dream why Tommy left without a goodbye, and it was why he had restrained himself from volunteering. He received a draft letter, however, so all of that restraint had gone to waste. In those few moments that the scene lasted, Tubbo decided his fate. He knew he didn’t want to make it out alive with the horrific memories of battle, so he signed himself to death. He had a goal in mind, and as long as he could reach Tommy, he didn’t care what would happen to him next. Thus Dream’s words, “A man who enters thinking he’s going to lose will always receive that fate.”

* * *

**Crows**

In many stories, legends, and myths, crows symbolize bad luck. In this fanfiction, I used that to my advantage. I mentioned in the middle of the story how Dream and George kept seeing birds. Then, at the end of Tubbo’s scene, crows cawed. The birds were predicting the death of the people in the war, and the crows specifically foreshadowed that Tubbo was going to die.

* * *

**Parallelism between Phil and Dream**

At the end of the fanfiction, it is implied that Phil took his own life by jumping off a cliff. He also predicted that Dream was going to come and find the note. The parallel created between the two of them was done to show how bad loneliness can affect someone. Only when Dream visited Phil was he alone. Other than that, he was always with someone, mostly being George. George was the pillar he held onto; the person kept him from going insane with his own thoughts. Phil didn’t have his own George, so to speak. Phil had everyone taken from him- his three sons, and even Tubbo, who he hung a service flag for. Phil was alone with nothing to distract him from his thoughts, so he resorted to taking his own life. That could’ve been Dream’s fate if didn’t have George.

* * *

**Banners/Flags of Stars**

It is never properly explained in the story, but the flags that Phil hung in his window sills were service flags. They are as they are described; a thick red border and a white middle with one or more stars in the center. These began to get popular during World War II, and they were used and are still used to show family members that are in military service during periods or war/hostility. Blue stars represent active service, silver stars represent injured/wounded veterans, and gold stars represent the death of a soldier. In descending order from oldest to youngest, each one of Phil’s sons were drafted into the war. All three flags were blue at one point, but then each one turned gold to show that they died. Phil also hung a flag for Tubbo, since it is implied that his parents wouldn’t do that for him. Tubbo’s star turned gold as well. Finally, at the end of the story, Dream hangs one last banner that represents Phil. Even though he never actually fought in the war, he was still a victim who lost his life to it, so Dream saw it was fit to give him a flag as well.

* * *

**Technoblade**

I felt like being kind of a dick, so I made Technoblade the first one to have his star turn gold. This was done in irony of the fact that his fanbase always spams, “TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES.” His death also gave more of an idea of what the stars meant and represented if you hadn’t already known prior to the fanfiction.

* * *

**Field of Golden Stars**

Dream saw a field of golden stars multiple times in this fanfiction, and kept referring back to it as it went on. This was his way of reminding himself that the war was still going on, and people were dying. The golden stars that hung from Phil’s windows weren’t the only ones out there, and millions of other families had their own stars to hang. The reason why it was a field was because Dream had personally envisioned people dying on a battlefield, so his subconscious reflected upon that.

* * *

**Mental Health**

Mental Health was a rather big theme in the story if you paid attention. Dream would’ve been much better off dealing with his problems if he had gone to therapy, but because of the times he was in, the thought would’ve probably never crossed his mind. George could get him into therapy using his inherited money and job back in England, but as stated before, George wouldn’t have thought to do that either.

* * *

**Letters and Envelopes**

Letters were a recurring theme in the fanfiction. In order to cope with his surroundings, Dream placed all his mental problems onto letters. It was briefly explained in the story that the letters always seemed to carry bad news with them. The first one was taking Sapnap away to war, and the last one was the suicide of his neighbor made specifically for Dream. One could not blame for having an aversion to letters. I could even say he suffered PTSD from these letters, because he had repeated trauma regarding them that had a lasting effect. Over and over they announced another person sent away to war, so he associated those letters with the very thing killing what he knew.

* * *

**Plot**

The plot actually comes from a story my father once told me about his grandfather, who I never got to meet. He said that his grandfather had a neighbor whose kids were all drafted to World War II. The parents hung blue stars to show their kids in service, and my great-grandfather watched as each one of them turned gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw any mistakes, please let me know. I hope you all have a wonderful day and/or night!


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